


The five year wait

by pandabob



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Celebrations, Divorce, Friendship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-06
Updated: 2017-09-06
Packaged: 2018-12-24 18:02:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12018141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pandabob/pseuds/pandabob
Summary: The system requires a five year wait if the other party won't agree.If you're a guy like Greg Lestrade, who values promises and vows, that means a five year wait for what you really really want.When the day finally arrives all that is left to do is celebrate :-)





	The five year wait

He’d waited five year for this, five long, crazy and annoying years.  In that time his crazy friend had ‘died’, saved the world from a rampant criminal and then come back to life only to be blown up by his own sister. His slightly less crazy friend had married an assassin, become daddy to an amazing little girl, lost his wife and been shackled to the bottom of a well full of the bones of a dead kid and the guy he desperately wanted to fuck into the mattress had got on with running the world, and saving his siblings from themselves, while hopefully waiting and hoping for just this moment just as much as he was.

 

###

 

Greg had a rare Saturday off work and he’d slept until almost lunchtime, he had nothing planned and they’d had a crazy week chasing clues in a ‘body in the wheelie bin’ murder, which Sherlock had solved with the help of Rosie, apparently, yesterday afternoon while John was at the clinic and he was supposed to be babysitting, so sleep had seemed like a very good use of his time. 

 

The postman had been by the time he walked downstairs to the hall and he spied the letter, white envelope with that tell-tale blue franking on the top, peeping out from under a pizza menu.  He let out a sigh and almost shouted at himself. “For fuck sake, what does she want now?” as he scratched his fingers up into his hair.

 

Picking the post up from the floor he threw it onto the dining table, reasoning that he’d handle whatever the letter from his solicitor told him better with hot coffee in his hand and a slice of toast in his belly, and he made his breakfast, or was it brunch, before he sat down and took a knife to the envelope.

 

For the last five years ‘Mrs Lestrade,’ as she still insisted on calling herself, had simultaneously refused to agree to divorce while demanding he hand over money, pension, property and anything else she could think of.  Mycroft, being the most powerful man on earth but more importantly being the nicest guy Greg had ever been lucky enough to be friends with, had offered many times to try and ‘persuade’ his wife into his way of thinking but Greg had always refused.

 

‘The rule of law is there to be followed, she’ll have to let me go in the end’ he’d said every time, although he’d believed it less and less as the months became years and the years became the thing that was standing between him and the thing he really wanted to do with his friend. (Waiting to be able to do that was another reason he couldn’t take Mycroft up on his offer to help even if every time they sat together on the sofa they used less and less of the space and if their dinners, suited and booted, in posh restaurants had now become takeaways in their pyjamas curled up together watching old films in Mycroft’s snug.  It might not make sense to anyone else but for Greg it mattered that he got out on his own however long it took)

 

The rule of law was getting on his wick though, as was his own sense of what was right. ‘Mrs Lestrade’ had shagged half of London before she even kicked him out of their flat and there was no way that she’d stopped when he’d left but being married mattered to Greg, the vows and expectations mattered and he was never ever going to commit adultery, it just wasn’t him.

 

Greg read the letter aloud, as if somehow that would help him maintain his calm at whatever was being demanded of him now, “Mr Lestrade, I am writing to you to enclose your…”  He took a breath, shook his head as if to clear his mind and then continued reading to himself.  He read the letter three times, and the papers that had come with it before shuffling them all back together and almost leaping out of his chair in search of his phone.

 

Having selected a list of names, Sherlock, John, Mrs Hudson, Molly and Mycroft he tapped out a message, _‘Party, my house tonight, if you’re busy cancel, pretend I’ve died we all jumped to when Sherlock did it, be here at 7. Greg’_

 

A few seconds after sending the message he sent another _‘you’re invited as well Rosie ;-)’_ and ran upstairs to get dressed.

 

The afternoon was filled with busy, first he went shopping, buying all the ‘from the freezer to the cooker to the table’ nibbles he could find, four huge bags of crisps, a case of beer, a box of white wine, a bottle of red wine and a very expensive bottle of Mycroft’s favourite whiskey.  After a little thought about health, or more accurately about Rosie’s attendance, he grabbed some ready-made salads,  some cartons of fruit juice, a loaf of bread and some fruit salad boxes and headed for the till via the ‘homewares’ section to pick up a picture frame.

 

The first batch of food was cooking and Greg was well into tidying the living room, making room for his guests, when he thought to look back at his phone to see if anyone had replied.  All the lights were flashing, indicating lots of incoming information and for a second he doubted himself, would they all be unable, or unwilling to come?

 

He took a breath and pushed the thought away, they were his friends, they liked him at least a bit.

 

Pressing the button to wake up his phone he had six replies

 

The first said ‘I had nothing planned, will be there at 7, shall I bring anything? Molly.’ That made him smile, at least someone would be coming so he text back ‘nothing just yourself :) Greg’

 

The second was from Mrs Hudson and it made him laugh out loud, ‘you’re not really dead are you inspector? Oh no, of course not you wouldn’t be texting me if you were although Sherlock did once, high probably, gave me a shock I can tell you. Anyway yes I’ll be there, see you later’

 

The third was from Sherlock, the odd, new, post Euros Sherlock who actually replied to things even if it made people want to thump him ‘I attended my own fake death party and I will happily attend yours. SH’

 

Greg sighed as he read it and felt his eyes narrow. “It’s a fucking good job we like you you know, most people wouldn’t have welcomed you back from the dead never mind put up with you telling them how you watched them all suffer! See you later.”

 

The fourth and fifth were from John “sorry mate, I can’t make it, you’ve invited all my baby sitters, sorry” was quickly followed by ‘Rosie says yes, so we’re coming, see you at 7’

 

When Greg looked at the time on the sixth message he wondered if the noise of it arriving to his phone on the table had been what had reminded him to look for replies because Mycroft had clearly been late in replying. “So sorry for the delay, I apologise again for my part in Sherlock’s fake death, I will be there at 7 if I am still invited. Shall I bring anything? Myc.”

 

Laughing as he read it Greg replied ‘Of course you’re still invited, wouldn’t be the same without you, bring nothing except you and your smile ;-) xx’

 

Going back to his tidying Greg tried not to think about all the ways Mycroft could have interpreted his message, he was too happy and he had far too much still left to do to worry about it.

 

By six o’clock all the nibbles were cooked, the beer and white wine were chilling in the fridge, the red wine was ‘breathing’ not that he knew what that really meant and the whiskey was standing on the side table, accompanied by six glasses that he’d had to go back into the shop to buy earlier, and it was time to get ready to meet his guests.

 

On a normal day, or every day for the seventeen years until now getting ready to meet guests would have been easy.  Quick shower, brush teeth, comb hair, work trousers and work shirt on, roll up sleeves, leave top button open, Ta-da!  Relaxed Greg. Except that wasn’t relaxed Greg that was ‘relaxed’ DI Lestrade. 

 

Relaxed Greg hung around Mycroft’s big beautiful home in his pyjamas, he wore tracksuits and trainers or Jeans and jumpers while they curled up watching a film or even while they decorated his flat.  That had been a fun day and the first day he’d got Mycroft out of his suit, something he’d only achieved by explaining how hard it would be to get gloss paint out of a £3000 suit and how easy it would be to throw away £10 jeans. Tonight he wanted to be himself not the thing he had been for more years than he could remember.

 

Looking carefully at what he had in his wardrobe, and wishing he’d had this thought a few hours ago when he could have gone to the shop and bought himself something nice, Greg thought for a few moments and then selected exactly the clothes he’d worn when decorating with Mycroft.  Black jeans and a white t shirt, nothing fancy and nothing anyone, even Mycroft, would remember, but something that made him feel like him.

 

Dressed, shaved, hair done and bare foot, because he could in his own house, he made his way downstairs at six forty-five to wait for his guests.

 

 

 

 

Sherlock and Mrs Hudson arrived at six fifty.  Sherlock neither knocked nor waited to be invited in, both of which made Greg smile, “You’ve lived here a long time Greg, why is now the time for a house warming?”

 

“It’s not a house warming Sherlock, don’t look at me like that, get Mrs Hudson a drink, wait for your friends to arrive on time” Greg offered a playful grin at Sherlock and Mrs Hudson opened her mouth to apologise for being early but he raised his hand and winked indicating no explanation necessary, “all will make sense after alcohol and nibbles I promise”

 

“Even your clothes?”  Sherlock screwed up his nose as he looked at him.

 

“Yes Sherlock, even my clothes.”

 

There was a knock on the door and Greg went to answer and was surprised to find Rosie sitting on his front step.  “Hello beautiful,” She reached her arms up to him and he leant down lifting her to his hip, “Did you bring daddy with you or have you left him at work?  It’s a bit of a long crawl I would have thought?” 

 

Rosie laughed and shook her head before shouting “Dada, Dada,” at the top of her voice and straight into his ear.

 

“Ow, wow, those are impressive lungs shortstuff; does daddy need help with all your things?”

 

Rosie didn’t answer but a muffled voice that came from the far side of the taxi outside said “I’ll manage, you take her in, I’ll be there in a minute.” And with that Greg walked back into his living room finding himself instantly relieved of the girl by Sherlock who gave her a kiss and then blew a raspberry under her chin making her giggle.

 

“I guess I’ll get you a drink then Mrs Hudson, wine? Red or White?”

 

“A nice glass of red would be lovely Inspector, if you don’t mind?”

 

“How about a glass of red in exchange for you calling me Greg? Even if just for tonight?”

 

“Well … er… I’ll try Inspec” Greg raised his eyebrows at her and she stopped before correcting herself “Greg”

 

“A glass of red coming up” he said with a grin just as his phone went off in his pocket.  He opened the phone and his heart sank, the message on the screen read ‘I’m sorry but’ and had Mycroft’s name attached and suddenly this all seemed like a bad idea.  If Mycroft wasn’t coming then what was the point, except of course that all his other friends were here, including by the sound of Rosie’s sudden chatter, Molly.

 

Greg ducked his head back around the kitchen door, “Hey Molly, great to see you, Wine? I’ve got red or white?”

 

“Hiya,” Molly smiled at him and for a second all thought of the text message from Mycroft drifted away, “white would be good, do you need a hand?”

 

“No, I’ll sort it.  Beer for you two?” Greg looked between John and Sherlock who both nodded and he disappeared to sort the drinks. 

 

Time ticked past seven and, as Mycroft was never late, he concluded that the message he was refusing to read must have said he wasn’t coming so pasting on a smile he carried the drinks back to the living room, and joined his friends who were all staring at him waiting for something to happen.

 

The silence drifted for a few moments before Rosie broke it with a shout of “ood, ood.”

 

“You hungry Rosie?”  Molly picked her up and walked towards the table of food looking at Greg questioningly, “Can she have something Uncle Greg?”

 

“Of course she can, help yourselves, all of you.”

 

Everyone busied themselves with plates and food and then settled back in their seats, once again looking at Greg expectantly.

 

“So?” John voiced the question they all wanted to ask,

 

“Well, so… I” Greg took long drink from his bottle, trying to regain some of the happiness he’d had all day that had disintegrated with just three words on his phone screen.  He took a deep breath and looked at John, “I got a letter this morning, from my solicitor.” 

 

He looked away from John as he heard a noise that he thought, or hoped, might be the door but no one appeared so he went back to looking at John.

 

“I nearly didn’t open it, five years has been a bloody long time to be dealing with letters that got me nowhere especially as they only even seem to be her asking for money but, having eaten breakfast and had a coffee I decided I better had.”

 

Greg was sure that there was another noise in the hall and Rosie seemed to turn and look but no one else moved.

 

“So I opened it and,” Greg suddenly felt nervous, this was a massive thing for him but was it really a big thing? Did it matter to his friends? The friend he’d thought it would matter to most hadn’t even bothered to turn up, crying off at the last minute, so why would this lot care.

 

“And what Greg? What is so important that we were all summoned to your version of a pretend funeral?” Sherlock’s tone earned him simultaneous glares from John. Molly and Mrs Hudson and Greg dropped his head back scrubbing his hands over his face and gulping down the rest of his beer.

 

“Nothing Sherlock, absolutely nothing, nothing important I just didn’t fancy drinking alone.”

 

“Oh Brother mine,”  the voice came from the point in the hall where Greg had been sure he’d heard movement a moment earlier and he felt his heart quicken “You’re growing slower in your old age, surely you don’t need the inspector to tell you why you’re here, work it out.”

 

“What are you doing here Mycroft?”  Mycroft stepped out of his hiding place into the doorway and smiled at Greg who nearly dropped his beer “And why are you dressed like that?”

 

There was no suit, not even a jacket and tie, no black shoes and not even an umbrella, Greg assumed that had been left by the door as Mycroft NEVER went anywhere without it, instead there was Mycroft, dressed in a pair of black jeans, with yellow paint on the knees and a dark blue t-shirt, he had no shoes on his feet and a wide smile on his lips.

 

“I was invited Sherlock and you should be glad I am dressed like this,” Mycroft had his eyes fixed on Greg’s as he spoke, “My initial wardrobe choice would have upset you greatly.”

 

Greg choked on a chicken skewer that he hadn’t even been eating and felt his skin heat up.

 

“So Sherlock work it out, why are we here? Why did a letter from his solicitor, just over five years after he left his wife have our favourite Inspector calling us all here to a celebration? Why is Greg dressed like a man relaxed in his skin rather than a man constrained and defending himself from the world? Why is there food and beer and family and love in this room? And why, most of all is there a new frame on the wall, right there for you to see if you looked.  Just there next to the pictures of you all that your favourite detective inspector has on his wall?”

 

John, Molly and Mrs Hudson looked up at the place on the wall, squinting to read the words on the crisp white paper mounted in a frame on the wall while Sherlock looked at Mycroft then at Greg before going back to Mycroft and just as Molly, John and Mrs Hudson simultaneously grinned and opened their mouths to speak Sherlock look at Greg and spoke.

 

“I understand congratulations are in order Greg, it’s about time you got your freedom from her.  She, and the system, should not have made you wait so long.”  It was said with a warm smile and Greg felt everything Sherlock was trying to convey in his own special way. “However Brother,” Sherlock turned his attention back from Greg to Mycroft.  “Greg’s good news cannot answer the rest of my question, why are you dressed like that!”  Sherlock waved his hand up and down gesturing at Mycroft’s strange attire and everyone turned to look at him.

 

“Well that is where you’re wrong brother mine,” Mycroft glanced at Sherlock and then looked at Greg, fixing on his eyes and Greg knew his innermost thoughts were being read so he thought all the things he hadn’t let himself think before the ‘absolute’ was signed and watched Mycroft’s cheeks begin to heat as he felt his own do the same.  “I am wearing the second best outfit I could find for celebrating DI Lestrade’s divorce.”

 

“What are you talking about Mycroft, have you been drinking?”

 

“No, not one drop.”  At that Mycroft moved across the room in three determined steps, and Sherlock’s mouth dropped open as his brother lifted his right hand to cup Greg’s cheek while his left hand snaked around his back, coming to rest over his spine and he leant his head down just slightly place a soft gentle kiss on his lips.

 

There was a shared gasp from the guests which made Greg smile against Mycroft’s lips and Mycroft stepped back, turning to face the room while keeping his arm around Greg’s back, holding him close to his side.  Greg looked around the faces of his friends as they all stared at him and suddenly laughed; a real, full belly laugh.

 

“So yeah, I invited you all here to celebrate the fact that I’m finally divorced, totally free and allowed to fuck or marry whoever I please.  Thanks for coming, please god eat some food, drink some wine or beer, or,” Greg nudged Mycroft and pointed towards the bottle on the table and kissed him softly on the cheek, “expensive whiskey if this one will share with you. Play games, listen to music and, if you wouldn’t mind at some point, let me take a family photo to stick in the new frame and cover up the fucking decree on my wall.  At times I didn’t think I’d ever get here and I certainly didn’t think I’d have you lot around me when I did.  Anyway, I need more beer.”

 

 

The shock of Mycroft in jeans and a t-shirt  kissing Greg wore off quickly, even for Sherlock, and with much food, many beers and lots of fun and music and a number of increasingly crazy ‘family photos’ midnight came and went before anyone considered the need to go home. 

 

Mycroft called two cars at one am, Sherlock and Molly took one, leaning heavily on each other as they fell into the back of the car in a tangle of limbs while John and Mrs Hudson took the other with Rosie fast asleep in her car seat.  The arrangement struck Mycroft as odd, Sherlock and Mrs Hudson living in the same house but not sharing a car home but he decided to give his brain a night off and not consider it any further.

 

“That was fun, have you had a good time?”  Mycroft followed Greg back into the house after they’d waved their friends off.

 

“It got better after you changed your mind and came? Was a bit rubbish when I you weren’t here, it all seemed a bit pointless.”  Greg sat down on the sofa and tried to pull Mycroft down next to him but he resisted, pulling his hand away and crossing his arms across his chest

 

“Changed my mind? What do you mean? I said I was coming I was just a bit delayed replying because I was in a meeting.”

 

“You sent me a text saying you were sorry but you weren’t coming but then you came anyway which was great.”

 

Mycroft laughed and sat down in Greg’s lap, leaning in to kiss him gently on the lips before tracing a soft line of kisses up his jaw line to his ear. “You are a crap detective Greg,” 

 

Greg huffed and tried to move away but Mycroft kept his lips tucked close to Greg’s ear as he continued speaking. “Don’t they teach you to read all the evidence before you find someone guilty?”

 

Greg felt something dawning on his brain; he hadn’t actually read the message had he!

 

“Get up then, let me have a proper look.”  

 

Mycroft raised his hips slightly in Greg’s lap, allowing him to reach his hand under his arse and into his pocket to remove his phone.

 

Flipping it open Greg could feel Mycroft watching him as he read the message, the entire message

 

“I'm sorry but my driver will not allow me to leave the house in the attire you stipulated for your party, he believes me to be underdressed.  Changing into what I believe would be your second choice of my attire will take a few minutes and I will therefore be a little late.  I am sorry if this disappoints you, I will endeavour to meet your initial requirement as to my attire as soon as you will allow ;-)”

 

Greg knew that Mycroft would not have missed the reddening of his cheeks, the heating of his skin or, most of all given he was sat in his lap, the reaction of his cock.  “Fuck!”  The word was muffled by Greg nuzzling his head into Mycroft’s neck but was still loud enough for them both to hear and Mycroft laughed, wriggled slightly against Greg’s cock and then stood up tracing his fingers down the front of his t-shirt until he reached the hem and swiftly pulled it over his head.

 

Greg watched the movement and made a noise he never intended to when the muscles of Mycroft’s chest and softness of his belly were revealed.

 

Mycroft smiled cheekily as his hands moved to the button of his jeans, “Just me and my smile right?”

 

Greg’s eyes widened, his heart sped up and all his blood ran south as Mycroft flipped open the button, took hold of the zip and winked at him before asking “Shall I?”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is dedicated to each and every person who has helped me through the last five years. Those I've met in person, those I've only met online, those that have wished me well, those that have written fic that I've loved to read, those that have made art that has made me smile and all those who never even knew they were helping someone through the awful and exceeding long process of divorcing someone who is desperate not to let it happen.
> 
> Today my decree absolute arrived, I am free, no longer married to the creep, and I celebrated by ignoring the world and writing a silly fic, tomorrow I may 'fuck or marry' someone else :-D


End file.
